Part Six — I Signed My Divorce Papers With a Newborn in My Arms
I left the hospital three days later.
I did not return to our house.
Security was installed at my grandmother’s old property in Lake Geneva, and Miles drove Emma and me there.
I sat in the backseat staring at my daughter.
Everything outside the windows looked strangely ordinary.
Gas stations.
Traffic lights.
People carrying coffee.
A teenager riding a bicycle.
Three days earlier, I had expected to leave the hospital beside my husband.
Instead, Grant was in custody.
His girlfriend was pregnant.
My doctor was under investigation.
And my newborn daughter and I were moving into a guarded house.
Rachel arrived that afternoon with enough legal paperwork to cover my grandmother’s dining table.
Emergency corporate resolutions.
Trust amendments.
Protective orders.
Estate revisions.
Then she placed one last document in front of me.
A divorce petition.
She said, “You do not have to sign this today.”
Emma was asleep against my chest.
I looked at the signature line.
Six years of marriage fit onto a few pages.
“I do.”
“Natalie, you gave birth seventy-two hours ago.”
“My husband tried to arrange my funeral seventy-two hours ago.”
Rachel slid me a pen.
“Fair point.”
I signed.
Then we changed everything.
Grant was removed from my will.
Removed from Emma’s trust.
Removed from every emergency succession position he had held through marriage.
Miles and an independent professional trustee would oversee Emma’s assets if something happened to me.
Then Rachel pulled out our prenuptial agreement.
My grandmother had demanded one before the wedding.
At twenty-eight, I had thought she was being insulting.
At thirty-four, I wanted to resurrect her long enough to apologize.
The agreement protected my inherited company and real estate.
But there was also a clause I had forgotten.
A spouse convicted of a serious intentional crime against the other forfeited additional marital claims.
Rachel tapped the paragraph.
“Your grandmother was not romantic.”
I looked at the document.
“No.”
Then I smiled for the first time all day.
“She was apparently very difficult to murder financially.”
Part Seven — The Other Pregnant Woman Called Me
Five days after I left the hospital, Sabrina sent me a message.
Please talk to me.
I deleted it.
An hour later:
I didn’t know what he was planning.
That one I showed Rachel.
Sabrina obviously knew Grant was married.
She had sat at my dinner table.
She knew I was pregnant.
She had attended my shower.
But did she know about the plan?
That was another question.
The next day, Sabrina hired an attorney and offered to cooperate with investigators.
I hated the idea.
But Rachel reminded me that evidence did not become useless just because I despised the person carrying it.
Sabrina agreed to meet at Rachel’s office.
Miles came with me because, as he put it, “someone needs to stop you from discovering whether a stapler is legally considered a weapon.”
When Sabrina arrived, I barely recognized her.
No makeup.
No tailored dress.
No confidence.
